I had one of those weekends that you just don't tell Mom about if you don't want a full blown coronary attack to result.
Yes. That bad.
What happened, you ask?
I was awaked by the door buzzer at 8:30 a.m. on Saturday morning. Given that I'm single and I never make it home before midnight on a Friday night, this alone would be a bad thing.
It got worse.
It was six of Des Plaines' finest, in full tactical gear.
No, they didn't want me.
They want the scumbag downstairs. The scumbag who slams doors... and his girlfriend... all the time, simply because he can. The scumbag who allegedly sells dope out of the back window of his apartment.
Apparently he's been a naughty boy, although the boys in blue wouldn't tell us exactly what he's wanted for, only that they're very anxious to speak with him.
Okay. Finally they left. I went upstairs, made a cup of coffee, opened my book and no sooner had I gotten about a chapter in, the doorbell buzzed again.
I poked my head over the top of the stairwell in time to see a couple of Elk Grove's finest banging on the scumbag's door.
The knocking and calling, "James? Hellooo-oo?" went on for half an hour before they finally passed out business cards and instructed all the neighbors who were at home to call them if the scumbag turns up again.
Saturday afternoon the boys from Des Plaines were back again looking for the girlfriend/punching bag. She was in the apartment, but wasn't answering the door for anything.
More bang-bang-BANG, "We know you're in there!"
Nope. She wasn't coming out (I'm guessing she was cowering in a closet), and the cops apparently don't have a search warrant for the joint.
Guess who came back on Sunday? Repeatedly? (And no, it wasn't the scumbag or the punching bag.)
I live two blocks -- count'em two blocks -- from the police station. It's a quiet neighborhood. Who'd have dreamed that anyone would be idiot enough to have a criminal bent and live two blocks from the cop shop?
We're still waiting for the scumbag to turn up. It'll happen sooner or later. Oh, happy day.
Anyway, if all that lovely excitement wasn't enough, I had dinner on Saturday evening at my across-the-hall neighbors' place. The same neighbors that I entertained last Sunday and had such a great time with.
We had dinner, watched a movie, and then I got ready to take my leave and go back across the hall to bed.
The wife turned her back to write down her work phone number for me, and while she was busy doing that, the husband decided to do a little ass-grabbing. And not with his wife.
Jayzus, Mary, Joseph and the wee donkey, what's WRONG with people?
Not wanting to make a scene in front of the wife, I smacked his hand away like he was a pesky gnat, and got out of there toot de sweet.
Now I've got to figure out if it's just him that's a jerk, or if she knew what he was up to...
Yick! Yick, yick, YICK!!!
I need a shower. Bad.
I'm too old for this shit.